The Emporer's Hand - Brigid

**********

So far, Sigfried's journeys were a miserable failure.

Three days out of Altdorf, with no sign of trouble or evil to bash into tiny little bits, he let himself pout. His hammer swung forlorn at his side as he rode. A new priest of Sigmar should really have met the Empire walking: humble, penitent, and footsore, but Sigfried decided he could reach his enemies must faster if the horse got footsore for him.

The sunlight danced through the leaves, defying his glum mood and mocking him. As an acolyte, he imagined slogging through wind and mud, soaked and beaten by the elements, but still determined to defend his homelands despite the element's resistance. Instead the elements cooperated nicely and sheltered him from the slightest harm.

Or they tried to lull him into complacency. Sigfried eyed the benign trees with suspicion. A chestnut lurking off the path looked especially crafty, probably just waiting for him to ride close enough for it to twist into it's Nurgle-spawn shape and�

A woman screamed. Sigfried jerked upright in his stirrups, craning his head about to find the direction of the shriek. The woman obliged by repeating her cry and Sigfried spurred his horse into a gallop.

One of the brigands had firm grip on the ragged team of horses and another pulled her, kicking, from her wagon while trying to wrestle a knife out of her hand. A ragged slash of blood dripped down one cheek where she had struck him already.

Again, she screamed for her children to run - two blonde headed babes still in the wagon, screaming back "Momma! Momma!" Another brigand moved to collect them. The little girl struck him over the head with a piece of firewood. The boy was already on the ground, lunging at the man who held his mother.

"AVE SIGMAR!" Sigfried raised his hammer and charged. The brigands startled long enough for the woman to break free. She reached for her son. The sunlight flashed on the brigand's dagger.

The world seemed to dissolve into heavy water. Every movement, ever second, slowed. Sigfried's pulled his horse's reigns to veer behind the brigand as his hammer began its downward arc. The brigand pivoted toward the boy, bringing his arm up to strike. Sigfried tried to will his arm to swing faster, but it could not overcome the sluggish momentum that had overtaken all of them. He could only watch as the woman fell between her son and the knife, too late to do any more than avenge her.

The brigand's body fell with the thick thud and the others ran. The little girl waved her stick of wood after them, trying to hit them as they fled.

Sigfried gently lifted the woman, praying to Sigmar to preserve the life of such a valiant mother. The boy started to cry, but the girl watched, still holding the wood in her hands. He prayed again to ease her pain as he removed the knife. Its edge was jagged and worn and the wound it left bled black. He looked up at the children watching him. They seemed older than he first thought, perhaps ten. Yet, ten was young to lose a mother.

"Is your father near?"

The girl scowled. The boy shook his head. No, of course not. Sigfried chastised himself. A woman and two children with man to protect them on a back road to Altdorf?

"Is Momma going to die?" The boy sniffed. His sister punched him in the arm.

"If she is, the last thing she hears should be something other than your blubbering." She looked at Sigfried with a challenge in her blue eyes. "Can your god help her?"

Sigfried thought quickly. As an acolyte, the Church of Sigmar taught him to fight, pray, and obey. As an adept, they taught him the ways of the Order of the Silver Hammer, tactics, and warfare. No one ever told him how to counsel orphans.

"Sigmar saw how your mother fought and desired her to join his Valkyries. He wanted to reward her for her faith and bravery in life."

The boy sobbed. The girl crossed her arms. "Strange that Sigmar would do that since Momma worshipped Ulric all her life."

Sigfried's temper flared. "Well, you don't see a cleric of Ulric here now, do you?"

Her gaze melted in confusion and she looked at her mother. "To everything there is a season. A time to live, a time to die�"

"We choose the time of our deaths - old and infirm and cowardly or valiant in battle. Your mother chose and Sigmar would honor her for that. Do you have a spade in that wagon? We need to bury her."

As he shoveled, Sigfried tried to remember if he had seen a farm anywhere nearby or someplace he could leave a couple children. A priest should be seeking evil to defeat, not babysitting its victims - particularly ungrateful little ones. The boy wept as he worked and the girl wanted to, but refused. She looked away when they tossed in the first handful of dirt. Her face was much more somber when they had finished.

After giving them time to say their good-byes, Sigfried lifted them both onto his horse and led them and the wagon away. Neither of them said a word. The boy hiccupped.

They stopped at the first farm they encountered. Sigfried looked at the flowers planted in front of the small house, the chickens and geese in the yard, and the healthy plow horse and decided this one was as good as any. The woman churning butter raised her graying head and called for her husband.

"AVE SIGMAR!" Sigfried waved.

"Hrm. Ave Sigmar." The aging man wiped his hands on his apron and waited for this stranger to explain himself.

"I am Sigfried of the Order of the Silver Hammer. These children have just lost their mother to cutthroats on the road to Altdorf. They have no other family."

"Poor chicks," the woman clucked, helping them down from the horse. "What are your names?"

"His name is Dagaric," the girl answered in a voice much younger than the one she used earlier. "Mine is Brigid."

"There, there, Dagaric," she wiped the boy's tears off his face with the corner of her apron. "'Tis a hard thing to lose a mother, but we all must one day or another. And she would not want you running about with empty bellies, would she? I have some venison stew that's just ready now. Would you like to come and help me season it?"

Dagaric clung to her hand as she led the children to the house, but Brigid walked alone, frequently looking back at the priest with an inscrutable look in her eye.

**********

Three Years Later�

Sigfried leaned back against the front gates of the Temple of Altdorf and watched the sunset. The priests obliged to guard duty for two weeks out of each year kept their measured paces on the walls. Sigmar brought them here for the most beautiful event to grace these stones and they only thought of their duty and getting back out into the field. He shook his head. Such things experience teaches.

He envied them, but only slightly. They talked about his last battle, single handed against a pack of orcs. They awed at his lost arm and imitated its final swing. They watched him pass by in reverent silence. They all dreamed of standing in his place - and he wished, with fever, to return to theirs.

The crunch of feet on the gravel brought him to attention.

"Who goes there?"

"Heinrich. Relief guard."

"Pass?"

"There are cutthroats on the road to Altdorf."

Sigfried surrendered his halberd to the priest. "Is there still dinner left in the hall?"

"I made sure to save you some, yes. Not that Hilde won't pile more in."

Sigfried grimaced. The Temple's cook seemed to think that if she fed him enough, his arm would grow back. "I'll stay here 'til dark, if you don't mind."

The last rays of the sun faded over the rooftops of Altdorf and the stars began to light, one by one. Sigfried studied the patterns they made. Some talked of the shapes of animals and things formed in the night sky, but he could not see them. He saw triangles and squares, hammerheads and hilts. The priests on guard on the walls above lit their torches and kept their measured pace. He sighed. Tonight was as good a night as any.

Sigfried stood and opened his mouth to say his farewells when the crunch echoed at the gates again. Heinrich barked, "Who goes there?"

The steps stopped and a young voice barked back. "One who would be an acolyte."

Sigfried paused, trying to remember where he had heard that voice before. "Step forward and show yourself." Heinrich respected him too much to be offended.

That farm had been a wise choice after all. She had grown into a healthy girl, muscled beneath her thin appearance. She stood erect with a firm grip on her walking stick, ready to use it as a weapon rather than lean upon it. And, considering her last trip toward Altdorf, he couldn't blame her for wanting a weapon. Her yellow hair hung in long braids down her back, but her eyes were still the same - calm water that hid a riptide.

"Your name?" He wanted to ask about the farm, the old couple, Dagaric. Were they all alive? Were they well? Had she left with their blessing or run away or had death followed her again?

"Brigid Nomansdaughter. I am sent with the consent of my foster parents to serve Sigmar and his Temple and" she looked at Sigfried directly, "to repay the debt I owe Him."

"You may enter, Brigid Nomansdaughter," Sigfried felt his mouth pull into a smile, despite the serious ritual. "You will be given a meal and a night to make your decision. If you are still here at sunrise, your training will begin. I am Sigfried Onearm. I will be your teacher."

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